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TWILIGHT 

EMBERS 



JESSICA. JONES M^GRKW 



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Twilight Embers 



BY 

JESSICA JONES M^GREW 



1912 ^ 

Franklin Hudson Publishing Co. 
Kansas City, Mo. 



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Copyright, 1912, 

by 

JESSICA JONES McGREW. 



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DEDICATION 

TO 

Mh. and Mrs. Lawrence M. Jones. 

In dedicating these simple lines to you I have 
but one regret — that they merit so little in com- 
parison to the love in my heart which prompts this 
modest dedication. 

My gift is small, but the giver's heart is large 
and I would dedicate all the best therein to you — 
with appreciation of all the happiness you have 
ever instilled in it. Therefore my heart's best to 
you, who have ever been the dearest of parents and 
gentlest of guides. 

Devotedly your daughter, 

Jessica Jones McGrew. 



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INDEX. 

To Mother 7 

My Eiclies , 8 

The Soul 10 

The Old Yearns Garment ; 11 

My Phantom Babe : 12 

Death 14 

The Moonbeam and the Babe 15 

Give to the Living :17 

Waiting ..18 

To My Husband 20 

His Keys 22 

This Is My Creed.' 23 

A Toast to Mother 25 

Better Than 26 

To Little Marceline 27 

Flowers and Thistles , ^8 

The Graveyard of Opportunities 29 

Like Yours and Mine 32 

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Birth 34 

Martha June's Arrival : 35 

The Quest of the Unknown 36 

To Uncle Logan ^7 

Human Caterpillars and Butterflies 38 

At the Helm 39 

That She Might Live Again 40 

A Toast 42 

To Father 43 

A Nightmare 44 

A Turkish Bath 46 

Take It As It Comes .48 



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TO MOTHEE. 



I. 

A flower in its fullest bloom thou art, 
With thy noble soul and pure lily heart. 

II. 

A saint with a mission, put upon earth 
To instil in others thine own sweet mirth. 

III. 

A sister of charity thou hast been, 

Helping thine own and the world's hapless kin. 

IV. 

And there's one who calls thee "wife" with all 

pride. 
Who thrills with mem'ries of thee as his bride. 

V. - 

But of all these titles unto thee -due, 
There is yet another — a "mother" true. 
7 



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MY EICHES. 



I. 

Sing on, my heart, 

Be happy and rejoice — 

Thou art rich in j^recious treasures e'en mighty 

kings may not possess; 
Bom of heart's love and holiness, 
In welcome and true happiness. 
What, pray tell me, couldest thou e'er know of 

loneliness ? 






II. 

Sing of thy love 

And be proud and happy. 

For the heart that in sweetest harmony responds 

unto thine own; 
Let love's sweet rhythm ever beat. 
Unceasingly and gleefully. 
On through thy soul, heart, and life its melody so 

sweet. 



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III. 

Sing of thy health; 

Thou art so strong and brave. 

Thy blood, rich and red like wine, intoxicates thee 

with happiness, 
Thou doth find it a joy to live, 
Toiove, to play and also work; 
What greater blessing than health could Fate unto 

thee give? 

IV. 
Sing of my wealth ? 
Of power, position? 
Ah ! friend, if wealth be reckoned nominally, indeed 

I am most poor; 
Invoiced, my stock is "three in one' : 
In heart "love, health, and happiness," 
Joy in my purse ; but of other riches I have none. 



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•THE SOUL. 



I. 

The soul, like the perfume of the flower, is too 

ethereal 
For us to grasp, touch, or see; 
It is the pure, sweet breath of God, 
Which, too, we might call life 
Throughout eternity. 



II- 

^ _ You cannot choke its fragrance, though you may 

crush the rose's petals, 

Wherein its soul essence lies; 
\ And thus does Death the earthly form 

Crumble to dust, and yet 

The soul on high survives. 



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III. 

Fragrance is tfie flower's soul, and the perfume is 

lingering yet 
Of the rose you plucked to-day; 
Thus it is with mortality : 
Soul lives on — when all else 
Is subject to decay. 



THE OLD YEAR'S GARMENT. 



In shaking off the old year's garment, 
Thoughtfully go o^er its rent and tear. 
That in the future you will know 
How to avoid the things 
Hardest on your garment's wear. 



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MY PHANTOM BABE. 



I. 

You, who are blessed with child of your own, 
Heart hunger and love thirst are tortures unknown ; 
You know not the sorrow of arms empty that ache 
For the joy of holding close one's own — for whose 

sake 
Any sacrifice you would make, 
If ^twould thus more happiness bring to your loved 

one. 

II. 
Truly, divinely honored is she„ 
Crowned by Him on high as mother — at whose 

knee 
Sweet babes at bedtime hour gather for prayer, 
Ensconcing in lonely hearts a picture fairer 
Than all art's treasures, and rarer 
In that its theme 's from life, not imagination. 

III. 

Oft with home so still when I 'm alone, 
To my own phantom baby I softly croon 
A luUab}^ — and in my dreams it snuggles close 
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While I rock it to and fro — and what I love most 

In this dear little bahy ghost, 

'Tis mine and sweet to have it dependent on me. 

IV. 

But when out of this happy dream state 
Of proud motherhood with a start I awake, 
To realize more keenly how lonely my heart 
Is — when from this little phantom babe I must 

part. 
For sprightly does it soon embark ^ 

In those hazy dream clouds which float in mists of 

tears. 

^- :.% 

Alas ! not even a tiny shoe 
Does it leave me to fasten my dream onto, 
And there are no broken toy dolls strewn carelessly 
Around, while here and there a leg or arm torn 

free 
From the doll's sawdust-stuffed body; 
Thus my babe vanishes, leaving me but my dream. 



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DEATH. 



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Death merely is a season changing life's forests a 

deeper hue. 
Why the sad and bitter tear 
And poignant grief when dear ones die? 
They in a brighter world 
Are happier than here. 

' II. 

And when God reclaims His own, believe 'tis 
Nature's seasons changing, 
5^(^ For ere the summer is sped 

0^ The forests that were clothed in green 

Are e'en more glorious, 

Changed to their gold and red. 

III. 

It is the law of Nature too, that flowers blooming 

fresh and sweet 
Must wither and fade some day ; 
And to the life of the flowers 
Our own we may compare — 
We, too, must pass away. 
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>$^. 



THE MOONBEAM AND THE BABE. 



A stray moonbeam shyly 'neath a drawn boudoir 

curtain peeped. 
And modestly the length of the long room creeped; 
Then it climbed o'er the lace counterpane 
Overspreading a rich mahogany cradle, where 
Only the slightest break in the smoothness of the 

covers there 
Showed the outline of a wee body hidden 'neath the 

down. 
The moonbeam seemed possessed of this little babe 

— just born, 
And lovingly it hovered over it as though forlorn 
To leave, while tenderly it fluttered up and down 
Its tiny face, semingly to caress each feature. 
As though it were some mischievous little creature, 
Trying to tickle the baby's nose. 
And around its dimpled mouth, puckered so cun- 
ningly. 
It seemed to flit and dance quite funnily. 
This little moonbeam had preceded the stork, 

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And had been patiently waiting outside the room. 

To be let in just as soon 

As the babe arrived^ 

And when the first little wail of the babe's sounded, 

Joyously into the room the moonbeam bounded. 

And the clock of life had not ticked off many 
seconds 

Until the moonbeam became the baby^s friend. 

But sh ! All is quiet now and commotion at an 
end. 

All are asleep — even the moonbeam seems waning 

And ceases to glimmer so brightly, 

As protectingly it hovers o'er the crib where lightly 

This frail little human bundle sleeps. 

Suddenlv, though, the baby stirs — something is not 
right. 

It seems to be struggling with all its might. 

And no one is watching but the loyal little moon- 
beam. 

Finally it wails once, twice, then — alas ! 

It smothers in a little gasp. 

And only the moonbeam sees its sweet life 

Flicker out as a dainty candle the wind blows. 

16 



Then the moonbeam gathers up its pure white soul 

and goes 
Back to that mysterious world 
From whence the babe had come. 
Just as the rising sun 
Shone on the eastern horizon ; 
The inoonl)eam to the fairies' dell with the babe 

returned 
Before auA^one learned 
That the cold little body in the crib was lifeless. 



GIVE TO THE LIVIXG. 



The "flower^' of your loye and sympathy 

Give to the living, 

That in the giving 
They might enjoy its lovely fragrance now; 

Eather than it be 

A token from thee. 
To be withered as a funereal 

Offering to a soul 

Who ne'er can behold 
This late act of your consideration. 
17 




WAITING. 



I. 

Waiting, just waiting — waiting for what? 
For the sound of his footstep or key in the lock; 
Ah ! to see once again his form in the door, 
And to hear his dear voice call to me as of yore. 

II. 

Waiting, just waiting — waiting for what? 
For the ^phone to ring telling me whether or not 
All is well with him, that it 's foolish to fear 
That aught has befallen him ; but ah ! I feel queer. 

III. 

Waiting, just waiting — waiting for what? 
For a night messenger on the front door to knock. 
With a horrible tal^ that something 's gone wrong. 
Merciful Heaven ! grant such suspense be not long. 



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IV. 

Waiting, just waiting — waiting for what? 
Ah ! for something to happen to the big hall clock. 
That the hours can^t tick off the hope left me, 
That soon he '11 return to set anxiety free. 

V. 

Waiting, just waiting — waiting for what? , ^ 

To be strong enough to face my sorrowful lot: V4 V)// / 

Heart crippled, and in ruins a once rosy life, ^^^^f '/ 
That was trusted to one who's deserted his wife. ^ 



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TO MY HUiSBAND. 



Just as the sun, dear, lingering caressingly 

Around the frail flower, 

Shivering for warmth. 

Brought it forth in rich bloom. 

Your devotion has nourished my heart and soul 

Into a celestial happiness, 

And transplanted in a garden of love, 

My life has burst forth into joylful beauty. 

Like the rosebud in spring. 

That the sun's kiss unfolds to a large magnificence, 

x\nd even in Heaven a spirit could not bless 

Me with anything sweeter than your caress. 

11. 

There is no faith more perfect than my faith in 

you, 
You with God are hallowed. 
Pure in thought, noble, 
Gentle as a woman. 

But firm when man should be, yet most courteous; 
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Born, not veneered, a true gentleman, 

Honorable among your fellow-men. 

Highly respected by every woman, 

Beloved by all children, 

And most mercifully a friend to unfortunates; 

My heart hails no other on earth but you as King, 

And dear to 3^our high throne all its love I bring. 

III. 

But the flower that the sun kissed so tenderly 

The frost soon may destroy. 

Unless they have souls. 

And again in fragrance 

Bloom in a most sweetly scented paradise, 

Where things so beautiful live always; 

For God made heavenly things aesthetic 

That they might lend us His divine influence. 

His wee stars oft guide us. 

And tiny violets may with good inspire us, but 

Death's frost ne'er can chill my heart's love flower 

so true. 
And in Heaven it will be blooming for you. 



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HIS KEYS. 



I. 

Surrendered are his keys, 

Closed his desk; 

Thus is enacted on life's stage, 

One of life's lesser tragedies ; 

In truth, 'tis but a simple act, you say, 

To hand over keys at the close of a day. 

II. 

But what of the treasures 

Which those keys 

For many long years have unlocked? 

Vanished now are the dreams long dreamed 

Over that same desk. Ah ! 'tis sad, I say, 

That he is no longer there at close of day. 



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THIS IS MY CREED. 



I. 
If by some word, or smile, or deed 
I cheer some hapless fellow, 
Who is struggling lamely 'neath his load; 
And if, instead of harshness and rebukes, 
Compassion is my code — 
Though the Church be not agreed, 
God would say, "This is My creed." 

11. 

If by some word, or smile, or deed 

I a grieved mother comfort. 

Whose arms Death robs of an infant dear; 

If I in pity heal her breaking heart 

And try to stop her tear — 

Though the Church be not agreed, 

God would say, "This is My creed." , 

III. 

If by some word, or smile, or deed 
Erom a shameful life of sin 
23 



Some poor, sad, wavering soul I stay, 

Who ^s groping blindly for the righteous path ; 

If I show her the way — 

Though the Church be not agreed, 

God would say, "This is My creed." 

IV. 

If by some word, or smile, or deed 

I bring joy unto the life 

Of the ill-kept child when I meet her. 

Whose pinched face betrays starvation; if I 

For her make life sweeter — 

Though the Church be not agreed, 

God would say, "This is My creed." 

V. 

If by some word, or smile, or deed 
Some suffering one I ease, 
And gently cool a feverish brow, 
Eendering one thereby the balm of peace — 
There on high I allow. 
Though the Church be not agreed, 
God would sav, "This is My creed." 
24 



VI. 

Last of all — 

If God these words, and smiles, and deeds 

Has recorded to my name, 

As a Clwistian me He will reckon 

For the earthly good I tried to do, and 

To my soul will beckon; 

Though the Church be not agreed, 

God will oivn I lived His creed. 



A TOAST TO MOTHER. 



She, to whose patience, love, and loyalty I owe 

much — 
She is the embodiment of all that is noble, 
Truly "three in one," Lady, Mother and 

Comforter ; 
And when that unconquered power Death 
Deems it time that we should part, 
May the engraved image of her and her goodness 
Be ever carried in both my memory and my heart — 

My Mother. 

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BETTEE THAN. 



Better than pearls at parting, 
A crystal of a tear 
That 's welling. 

11. 

Better than a mint of gold, 
Happiness in your heart 
Answelling. 

III. 

Better than a stone mansion, 
A wee small hut wherein 
Love's dwelling. 



26 



TO LITTLE MARCBLLSrE. 



I. 

As the pure sweet petals of the flower unfold, 
Life to a babe is instilled from the fragance of 

the rose. 
For as sweet a bud as e'er was seen. 
From the rose's heart springs Baby Marceline. 

11. 

Wonderful artists the angels in Heaven be, 
To fashion a little soul from the flowers' f ragrancy ; 
Her eyes they dipped in the big sea's blue, 
Then shaded them deeper with violets' hue. 

III. 

Eyes clear and sparkling like the sun through 

April's rain, 
A mouth made of a smile, with dimples like gems 

that w^ould deign 
To rival the rainbow's radiance; 
All hearts glow with warmth of her laughter's 

brilliance. 

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IV. 

And as fresh as a little dew-kissed pink rosebud. 
She grows each day in our hearts' garden, more 

and more beloved; 
Blessed the home wherein reigns this wee queen. 
Where find a heart not bound to serve Marceline? 



FLOWERS AND THISTLES. 



Some children, like flowers, are raised with the 
tenderest love and care. 

And thrive luxuriantly, like plants in lovely, well- 
kept gardens; 

While others, unloved, unwelcomed, and neglected, 
are growing wild. 

In ugly environments — gasping for life, like thorns 
and thistles, 

Abounding in a choking growth on the most un- 
seemly hillsides. 

28 



THE GEAVEYARD OF OPPORTUNITIES. 



There came to me last night a vision while I sle^^t : 

It hovered close; in mockery seemed its glee, 

As chuckling throatily it stood there staring 

straight at me; 
It grinned and tapped me none too gently on the 

head, 
And I discerned its hands were long and bony; 
Strangely its fingers were like claws and flickered 

sparks of red. 
Frightened, I tried to cry for help, but could not 

make a sound; 
And when I would have tried to scamper from my 

bed,, 
It beckoned and its most weird power claimed me — 
I could only follow where'er it led. 



29 




1 IDIiKU)! ' L'^^ • '^ 

• T 

II. 

The soft, calm moonlights beauty gleamed in 

strange contrast 
To this tall, black bony symbol of the dead, 
As out through the quiet starlit night solemnly 

we sped; 
On we went until to a grewsome spot we came 
Where the dead were buried — their graves marked 

in fire, 
To which it pointed with its bony finger all 

aflame ; 
Then with a sneer it bade me read on each and 

eyerj stone 
The inscriptions scrolled in fire, and, to my despair. 
They marked the graves of opportunities 
^Tfong lost,'^ in letters dazzlingly aglare. 

III. 

About me were epitaphs ol my idle life — 

Of drugged ambition, wasted youth, shameful 

lust; 
Crazed with bitter regret, I knelt down in that 

burning dust, 

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'•^^.^oSSy^ 



And begged it let me leave this realm of wicked 

waste ; 
In a voice I scarcely recognized my own, 
I promised each step of folly soberly to retrace; 
And lo ! my frightful guide was transformed to 

an angel fair, 
And placing a lily hand on my throbbing head, 
Bade me repent before it was too late. 
And back to life again should come my dead. 

IV. 

Then I awoke and realized 'twas but a dream ; 
There was no graveyard afire, nor angel fair, 
And there were no tombstones nor burning 

epitaphs aglare, 
Nor was I suffering, Imeeling in burning dust. 
I smiled to know my soul was not in torture ; 
My hopes realized — my youth untainted with 

shameful lust. 
Ah, happily indeed I sighed as my life I reviewed, 
For was I not most greatly favored by kind Fate? 
To hold in this big world an honored place 
With pride, and by my side my soul's sweet mate? 

31 



LIKE YOURS AXI/MINE. 



I. 

The morning of her life burst forth in glorious 

rays, 
Wealth and proud, fond parents upon her gently 

smiled ; 
Her little bahy lisp was law — 
Each and ev'ry one her vassal, 
Her reign unquestioned and divine; 
Yet, with all this, her chances for true bliss 
Were no greater than yours or mine. 

II. 

Life's noontide beamed upon her in her • fair 

womanhood, 
Nature favored her with beauty of form and face. 
Of her charms the whole world did sing 
In flattery of which she tired, 
And for one true heart's love she pined; 
Thus, dear, her chances for an earthly blifes 
Were not as great as yours or mine. 
32 



III. 

Old age, life's "twilight,'' creeped prematurely 

over her, 
Without love's most sweet companionship to endear 
The quiet calm of eventide, 
Which precedes a beauteous night. 
The time of rest ; but Fate, unkind. 
Most cruelly denied her heart love's bliss, 
Tor which she longed — like yours and mine. 

IV. 

And true it is, wealth may crown her with jewels 

most rare, 
But their beauty grows quite dull compared to 

heart gems; 
The greatest jewel is our love, 
And from its glorious brilliance 
There radiates in splendor fine 
liOve's peace and contentrhent, the greatest bliss 
In all the world — like yours and mine. 



33 



BIRTH. 



I. 
life unfolds to us in mystery ; 

We know not from whence we spring. 
Of all deeds annalled in history, 

Birth and death are unexplained by mortal men. 

II. 
Many discoveries there have been, 

And records we may unearth 
Of the nations' ancient wars and deeds, 

But who can tell the secret divine of birth? 

III. 
Even our scientists cannot claim 

That they of the soul do know. 
Of birth they Imow materially, 

After death they know not whence the soul 

does go. 

IV. 

We only know we are put here to 

Struggle in joy or sorrow 
By a Higher Power most divine, 

But we know not of our final to-morrow. 
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MARTHA JUNE^S AERIVAL. 



It was a winter's nighl^-still and beautiful. 

Even in the atmosphere there seemed 

To reign a peace unusual. 

The frozen terraces were covered 

With a blanket of crystal. 

And the trees glistened like so many silver willows, 

As boldly they shone 'neath the street lamps, lest all 

The night's beauty be seen but theirs; 

In the distance now and then an echo light 

Of sleigh-bells jingling softly 

Upon the serene calmness of the night. 

Then again all the world seemed quiet ; 

Only one house upon the hill, 

Like a light-house in a frozen sea, 

When all else is still 

Was ablaze with lights. 

As though in glorification to Him above 

For the new-born babe 

Just sent to them to love. 

And, like a sentinel in the heavens. 

Closely guarding this home was the moon; 

35 



F^ i .^L-, 



Within — just as bright was a young mother's sweet 

face 
Beaming on little Martha June. 



THE QUEST OF THE UNKNOWN. 



If Father Time^, stopping on his way, 
Should offer you an eternal day 
In which to live forever, 
And immune you from Death, 
Do you really think 'twould be very fine 
For existence to last for all time ? 
Or would you hesitate. 
And with me finally agree that 
Life would not be half so dear 
If it were not for the fear 
That it might be lost most any time. 
Uncertainty lends a fascination, 
The same in the game of Death and Life 
As in a lesser strife. 
Who thrills with success so much 
As he who doubts the possibility of some 
attainment ? 

36 



We do not seek monotony; 

With man 'tis e'er the chance — the lottery ; 

He wants most what he 's not sure of. 

And ventures up each hill 

That he might know the view beyond. 

\Vho could be satisfied living for long 

At the foot of the hill, 

And ne'er have a desire to climb its brow? 

Thus 'tis true with Life so sweet. 

We love it — yet fear not to meet 

Death, which takes us to the Unknown. 

Even in Death there is the zest of chance. 

And if we could, we would not want to live always, 

And never know what heavenly rays 

Glisten in a Paradise be3^ond. 



TO UNCLE LOGAN. 



To know him is to love him 
For himself — and the good within. 
And though his way may take him far 
Or keep him near, 
Always will I hold him dear. 
37 







HUMAN CATERPILLiVRS AND 
BUTTERFLIES. 



In this world some are like the worms we hold in 

disgust, 
Sluggish and content to live on the earth's dust — 
While others there are who develop into butterflies 

beautiful. 
And strive in the world to lend an influence useful. 
And they who seek Nature's greatest truths to learn 
Are sure to rise from the ugly form of a worm 
And become useful butterflies. 
Whose beauty is "purpose" and defies 
The beauty reproduced by artist's brush ; 
For every good deed gives to life a touch 
That no artist can instil in his canvas, scheme as 

he must. 
So be not content to crawl in the dust — 
Struggle on and become useful; 
Be not the caterpillar, but the butterfly — ^in pur- 
'^ ■ pose beautiful. 



38 



AT THE HELM. 



The title that to me outranks all other 

Is, ah ! say it tenderly, ^^Mother." 

Honored on earth by all. 

Sanctified in Heaven by God, 

Crowned with motherhood by His power divine, 

She guides us on through the shoals of life's 

treacherous sea 
Into a quiet harbor of safety ; 
She rescues us 
From many a sinking 
Into fathomless depths of despair; 
She calms tempestuous billows which unrest would 

render. 
Ah ! truly she is our life's defender ; 
And were it not 

For this truest of skippers at the helm 
To guide us 

Through the storms of life. 
Many a disheartened one would hopelessly give up 

the strife. 



39 



THAT SHE MIGHT LIVE AGAIN. 



I. 

If you with your poet's pen 
Can make my dead live again 
In some sweet word picture 
Produced in your artistic way, 
At your feet my fortune I shall lay. 

II. 

Mirrored here it is gleaming, 

In face and eyes is beaming 

A souFs beauty as rare 

As God's angels could ever mold. 

Take this print and thus fashion her soul. 

III. 

Trace the gladness in eyes blue; 

See, there is a dimple too. 

Where laughter 's reflected. 

Her sweet smiling mouth study, please; 

Its expression shows her love to tease. 

40 



IV. 

Xauglit she e'er knew of sorrow ; 
Joy of her mirth did borrow, 
And when Death came to her, 
Her life was only just begun ; 
So make her song your happiest one. 

V. 

Of her virtues you must sing. 

It is true of them I bring 

Many, for she was good; 

'Tis proved pictured in face so sweet, 

God did surely make her most complete. 

VI. 

Kindness she e'er did render. 

And ah, how sweetly tender 

Was her great sympathy! 

When things seemed to be troubling you. 

Thoughtful she was, and unselfish too. 



41 



VII. 

Her happiness was an art, 
And in my sad, lonely heart 
The echoes yet I hear 
Of her mirth, like a silv'ry bell, 
Which every sorrow would dispel. 

VIIL 

A tear ? Are you suff'ring, too, 
Loss of one quite dear to you? 
Ah! then your heart will know, 
For your face shows sympathy kind, 
Of the bitter loneliness that's mine. 



A TOAST. 



Here's a toast to friends — the few 
Who have been tried and proven true : 
God bless the friend, when he is a friend. 
Who will most heartily defend 
You from your enemies. 

42 



TO FATHER. 



'Tis said : Give the flower 

Of your love and sympathy 

To the living, 

That in the giving 

They might enjoy its lovely fragrance now. 

Thus, dear father, my heart's bouquet, 

Still steeped in shimmering dew 

Of pure devotion, is my oifering to you. 

'Tis a flower that can never die; 

Its fragrance grows each day more precious. 

And at the last, when flowers speak for sympathy. 

The rose of my heart still sweetly fragrant shall be. 



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A NIGHTMAEB. 



I. 

"A tooth for a tooth and an eye for an eye," 
And to-morrow I must die 
In expiation of my crime. 

II. 

But oh, God, the tortures of this last hour, 
When nothing in my power 
Can save me from my awful fate ! 

III. 

My narrow cell I pace, crazed with the horror 

Awaiting me to-morrow; 

My God, I cannot die like this ! 

IV. 

My poor nerves twitch and jerk spasmodically 

When oh ! methodically 

Sounds the scaffold carpenter's blows. 



44 



V. 

Lo! there are the church-bells ringing out their 

chime. 
I hear them for the last time; 
To-morrow I shall be no more. 

VI. 

Then out loud I screamed, for anguished was my 

soul. 
And my! body was ice-cold 
When I awoke out of this dream. 

VII. 

The ''church-bell" in my dream was my alarm- 
clock. 
The "scaffold blows" mother's knock 
On my door announcing breakfast. 



45 



^i*^. 



A TURKISH BATH. 



I. 

If you want to feel like a Zu, 

Take a Turkish bath; 

It will only cost you a dollar or two 

To enjoy the climate of the African native ; 

There you can run around without much risk, 

With nothing but a "key bracelet" on your wrist. 

II. 

And "dressed up" in your rubber bracelet, 

Jingling with its keys, 

They put you in an electric cabinet, 

Close you in, then leave you to sizzle and boil and 

bake 
Until the maid announces, "Please, this way," 
And asks you upon a marble slab to lay. 



46 



III. 

Then your body with soapsuds she scrubs, - 
With oh, such a vim ! 

She sprinkles you with salt and again she rubs, 
And for the proper glow she spanks on you a 

tattoo. 
Then with a hose sprays you with water hot. 
While you stand there bedecked like a Hottentot. 

IV. 

Next, with k towel she is quite rough. 

Then comes alcohol; 

Finally you sigh, of bath you 've had enough ; 

Then she gives to you what is called a "Swedish 

massage." 
At last she's through, and winds you in a sheet. 
Shows you to a room — and leaves you there to 

sleep. 



47 



TAKE IT AS IT COMES. 
I. 

Life, with all its iips and downs, 
And smiles and frowns. 
Is precious to us all. 

II. 

True, with all its joys and fears, 
Its laughs and tears. 
We ^re glad to cling to it. 

III. 

Hopes, and disappointments too. 

Life brings to you, 

^Vhich you share with the rest. 

IV. 
Variety is the spice. 
And bad and nice 
Must ever alternate. 

V. 

Life 's the clock we 're sure to wind. 
Then sigh to find 
It wakes us up to toil. 

VI. 

But through all life's twists and turns 
The wise one learns • 

To take it as it comes. 



/ 



APR 8 1912 




It 



1 



d 






